The Violent Bear It Away
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: McKay, Sheppard, and Keller attempt to negotiate a treaty with a fundamentalist society, which enjoys peace and prosperity through its spiritual enlightenment. But enlightenment is just a point of view, as Atlantis' trio is soon to discover.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: MGM owns Stargate. Seriously.

**Spoilers:** Nothing explicit comes to mind.

**Description:** McKay, Sheppard, and Keller attempt to negotiate a treaty with a faith-based society, whose enlightened way of life has long brought them peace. But enlightenment is a point of view, as Atlantis' trio is about to discover.

**A/N**: As my work on "Radio Nowhere" is nearing an end (there's 1-2 chapters or so remaining), I allowed myself to work a bit on this new idea that's been running through my head. So, here's the first chapter. I, as always, am greatly appreciative of feedback, so be sure to hit that 'review' button at the bottom. Complaints, praise, and questions are all more than welcome. Thanks!

* * *

**The Violent Bear It Away**

* * *

"_From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent bear it away."_

_- Matthew 11:12_

The second sun hung down a bit below the first one, distorted into an oval by the pull of gravity between the two stars, and if he hadn't already seen similar sights on other worlds, he might have been moved to gasp. As it was, though, he just unsquinted his eyes and squared his shoulders away from the horizon, frowning at his sleepy-looking friend.

"You don't find them the least bit creepy?"

Sheppard folded his arms across his chest, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Rodney, you've watched me turn into a bug, met another version of yourself from a parallel universe, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean… and _this_ is what gets you?"

McKay ignored the rejoinder.

"You don't think they're a _little_ strange?"

"I'll admit, they're…" He searched for a diplomatic describer. "Unusual. But seeing as we're their guests, it's not very polite for us to be having this conversation."

The scientist rolled his eyes in a manner familiar to both of them.

"_Please_. With the amount of profound scientific advances I'm providing them, I'll say whatever I like about this three-ring circus."

"Rodney," Sheppard said slowly, his tone carrying a note of warning, "you can say whatever you like when we get back to Atlantis, but for now, I'm going to need you to…" He paused. "… not be you."

McKay huffed in indignation, but Sheppard spoke over it.

"We need them just as much as they need us. Keller said these roots they've been showing her have amazing medicinal qualities. And it never hurts to find a new ally with a ZPM."

"A ZPM they're never going to give us anyway."

"That's quitter talk, McKay," the soldier replied, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. "You just keep lending your expertise, with your sunny disposition, and we'll see if we can't work something out."

McKay sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Yeah, well, try to make it quick. I hate this place."

Sheppard's mouth turned down at those words, as he took in his friend's frazzled comportment. There was something more in his voice than just the usual bluster. He looked spooked almost.

"I figured you'd appreciate a nice orderly society for once."

"It's not the orderly part; it's the fanatical part," McKay replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he turned back to face the suns. "I've never really understood people like that."

It wasn't a surprising sentiment to hear from the astrophysicist, but the touch of melancholy attached to the utterance was a curious thing. Sheppard was moved to ask about it, but the chance didn't present itself, his and the scientist's attention abruptly seized by the sound of footsteps across the courtyard.

McKay spun back to look at the cloaked figure approaching, recognizing Brother Giroux's slight slouch even before he could make out his face. The man's footsteps, though labored and lumbering, were purposeful, and it was only then that the Lanteans realized the time.

"Colonel, Doctor," the weathered old man greeted curtly, inclining his head politely.

Sheppard forced a smile.

"We are ready to accept you for Evening Meal, if you are still of a mind to oblige it."

McKay opened his mouth to reply, but Sheppard quickly answered for him.

"We'd be thrilled," he said, looking at the scientist pointedly.

Giroux observed the exchange with curiosity, tilting his head a bit as he watched McKay swallow whatever words he'd been about to speak. The scrutiny wasn't lost on the acerbic Canadian, who averted his gaze uncomfortably, forcing away some memory from his self-destructive mind's eye.

The clerk's eyes traveled over McKay's creased face, seeming to memorize every line, before they finally looked back at Sheppard.

"Come then," he said. "We shall eat in thanks to The Father."

Sheppard nodded politely, quietly following behind the older man as he led them away from the sunset. He spared a discreet sideways glance at McKay, who fell into step beside him, and the soldier didn't at all like the disturbed expression which lingered as they went.

* * *

Sister Cauldry was a pleasant woman. She had one of those kind faces that makes someone seem incapable of scheming, and the long, thick blonde-gray hair that extended halfway down her spine brought a certain softness to her that most of the other clergy couldn't manage.

She looked across the table at the Lanteans – McKay, Sheppard, and Keller seated in a row – taking a sip of wine from her cup before addressing the soldier.

"You said earlier that there were questions you wished to ask of me."

Sheppard nodded as he chewed the fat of some local beast, letting it roll around his tongue before finally swallowing it. He could tell that McKay was watching him.

"Um, yeah," he said, setting his utensil down. "Yeah. I was just curious about a few things."

"You may ask of us what you like." She gestured around the table to the others of her kind. "We are always eager to share the Revelation of the Father."

"About that... you told me before that everyone in your society believes in the Revelation."

Cauldry seemed taken aback by his remark, as did the rest of the clerics seated around the table. Sheppard exchanged a furtive glance with his teammates, confused by their hosts' disbelieving reaction.

"I'm sorry. Did I say something offensive?"

Cauldry's affronted expression disappeared, transformed in a single moment back to the slack sereneness of seconds prior.

"No. No, not at all," the woman replied tranquilly. "It has simply been some time since such a query was entertained."

"May we ask why?" Keller's soft voice interjected.

Cauldry folded her hands in front of her, the tops of her fingers touching her plate at an edge. Keller had never been an expert in body language, but the Sister's seemed transparent to her, characterized by a stiff, deliberate calm that masked something far different on the inside.

"Many years ago, our faith was not so devout as it has since come to be. We believed in the Revelation, but we worshipped only when we liked, and we whimsically subverted its teachings when it and our desires proved untenable."

She paused, looking disgusted or sad or some such.

"Secularism infected our society's every corner, until it was like a faith in itself. Our laws were scribed in its image, and our children came to believe the Father's Gift more sacred than the Father's Revelation. We began to worship _ourselves_, our fleeting life. Flesh and blood became our spiritual currency."

McKay's voice was meeker than he'd ever known it. "What happened?"

"One terrible year – or perhaps it was two even – the Father at last wrought vengeance on his profane children," Cauldry said. "We suffered the Great Cataclysm at his divine hand."

"I'm assuming that was as unpleasant as it sounds," Sheppard remarked.

"Yes. We reaped what we had sown with our unrighteous acts. Disease and famine devastated our people. Tens of thousands perished, until so strewn about were the dead that it was as if the streets were paved with blood and bone. Everything gained through our unbelief was lost to us. In that putrid, terrible reckoning, we were finally humbled. We sought out the Father with pathetic entreaties, but as is the way of the Divine One, our pleas fell not on uncaring ears. He answered them. And those left behind vowed never to turn from his love again."

Sheppard couldn't think of anything to say, suitably stunned by the scope of the narrative. He wasn't sure how literally to take it, how much was fiction or parable or the inevitable exaggeration of time, but it was clear that the tale was literal to _her_. As such, he'd no desire to pursue the matter any further, fearful that he'd insult her.

McKay wasn't handicapped by things like tact, though.

"Are you saying that every single member of your society practices the same faith as you?"

Cauldry's eyes hardened at the question.

"Is it the practice of _your_ people to deny truth when it is upon you?"

Sheppard stepped in on his friend's behalf.

"Our people tend to have divergent views about what the truth is."

One of the other clerics, a younger man – no older than thirty or so – spoke up for the first time from across the table.

"Why do you tolerate such dissension?"

"We don't consider it our place to legislate people's thoughts," McKay bristled. "Where we come from, people can believe whatever they want."

Cauldry let out a sorrowful sigh, looking down at her hands.

"Such is the squalor we were given to before the Cataclysm."

McKay's eyebrows lifted a half-inch, wrinkling his forehead.

"_We_ don't consider it 'squalor,'" he snapped. "_We_ consider it basic sanity."

Sheppard's head whipped back toward his teammate, his expression severe and chiding.

"That's enough, Rodney."

McKay stared at him defiantly for a long moment, his chin raised in a defensive posture. It was amazing to Keller the way they could converse without even speaking. Little twitches that could be mistaken for random physiological occurrences added up to some kind of secret language. When the scientist finally looked away, it was clear he'd lost the argument.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose it is."

The rest of the meal passed without incident, Sheppard's questioning growing increasingly less incisive over its course. Cauldry spoke in vague generalities about the peace and prosperity the Father brought them for their worship, about the Day of Creation, and about how it was their spiritual duty to spread the good word to all who lived without it.

McKay didn't say anything more, though he smiled weakly when he felt Keller's hand resting on his leg.

* * *

They separated after Evening Meal, Sheppard to negotiate with Cauldry and the other elders, and McKay and Keller to meet with the Chronicler to discuss more of the locals' history.

It was well past a decent hour when, in an uncomfortable chair in the middle of a vast library, Keller slid her small hands over a weathered image in a frayed book. It looked to be an artist's rendering of a dark cavern, illuminated in the middle by a translucent wall of fire.

"What's this?" she asked, glancing across the table at the Chronicler.

McKay, to her right, leaned toward her to get a look at it, as the Chronicler – a pale, small man of about forty-five years – rose and circled around the table, coming to stand at Keller's left side.

"That is the Purging Wall."

Keller frowned, sharing a look with the scientist.

"Something tells me it's as ominous as the name suggests."

The Chronicler inclined his head in the affirmative, but didn't reply at first, circling back to his chair on the table's other side and reseating himself. He appeared contemplative for a few moments, and McKay cynically supposed that the alien was trying to piece together some soothing lie. But that wasn't quite how it went.

"There has long been a belief amongst our foremost theologians that a violent act is the only way to save some souls. And of those souls, some they say are so consumed by the wickedness of the flesh that there is but one deed which may cleanse them of it."

Keller blanched, a feeling of disgust washing over her as she realized the implication.

"You burn them alive."

McKay glanced at the doctor, then turned accusing eyes on the suddenly bashful Chronicler, who refused to meet either Lantean's gaze. The scientist felt instantly vindicated for all of the mistrust and open hostility he'd exhibited toward these people.

"Is that true?" he asked coldly.

The Chronicler nodded sadly.

"I'm afraid it was an accepted practice for some time, until the cavern was sealed by some malcontent. Probably to save himself or herself from such a fate."

Keller leaned forward hopefully.

"So it doesn't happen anymore. You don't still do this to people."

"No. Our contemporary measures are not so extreme."

"Oh, well, I guess _that_ makes it okay then," McKay quipped unsympathetically. "So, what do you do now? Whippings, drownings, hangings? Maybe a castration here or there?"

Keller's eyes widened at the scientist's outburst, expecting it to draw the Chronicler's ire, but much to her surprise, the historian merely bowed his head, as if shamed by the words rather than insulted. The lines around his mouth deepened as he let out a breath.

"I do not seek to know the entire business of the elders, but as I understand the matter, souls are cleansed now through a blessing of the blood."

"A blessing of the blood. What does that mean?" McKay asked.

"The blood is let from the body, and blessed by an elder Brother. Once cleansed, it is returned to them."

McKay seemed a bit confused as to what that meant practically, but Keller understood immediately.

"You're talking about an autotransfusion," she said, her own demeanor darkening. "That's _extremely_ dangerous, especially when dealing in large quantities of blood. You could _kill_ them, the same as if you were still burning them alive."

There was a fury in her eyes unlike anything McKay had seen in them before; it was so diametrically the opposite of the gentle warmth he was accustomed to that he was startled for a moment, but only that moment, because the weight of her accusation occurred to him in the next one.

"Wait, wait, wait. You mean you drain all their blood out, then put it back in? Are you people _insane_?"

The Chronicler blew out a frustrated breath, his back rigid as he betrayed anger for the first time.

"Is it your people's custom to assail with pomposity the faith and ways of life of those you claim to offer friendship?"

McKay opened his mouth to utter an inelegant retort, but much to his surprise and delight, it was Keller who replied for them both, lifting her chin up in much the way he might and regarding the Chronicler firmly.

"It's our custom to respect the sanctity of life," she said calmly. "Whoever or whatever that may be."

The Chronicler nodded distantly, his eyes unfocusing as if lost to a cumbersome cognition, and though the understated reaction was preferable to volatile discourse, McKay was mildly disturbed by the unexpected transformation. These people had a way of deadening emotions that he didn't suppose he liked.

"Of course," the Chronicler said finally, forcing a thin smile before pushing back his chair and rising. "Of course, Doctor. But I'm afraid I must take my leave now, as I am overdue for dreams' ether."

McKay didn't show any sign that he'd heard the man, staring at him with narrow eyes, but Keller's mannerly nod answered for the both of them, and then the Chronicler slowly departed, his footsteps growing softer and softer until finally there was silence.

The Lanteans turned to face one another once they were sure he was gone.

"Okay, that was a little troubling," Keller said.

"A _little_? This isn't a society; it's a cult! And I swear to God, if I hear one more of them talk like a Charles Dickens character, I'm going to lose it."

"I'm not so sure we should be allying ourselves with these people."

"I'm glad we're on the same page," the scientist muttered with some relief, "because Sheppard's been drinking the Kool-Aid."

"Once we tell him about this, he'll come around. The 'Purging Wall' was one thing. We've done some terrible things in our own past on Earth. But we're not going around in present day forcing blood-lettings on people for not believing in God."

McKay nodded, rising up out of his chair and pointing a thumb behind him toward the door on the far side of the library.

"He should be done with Sister Cauldry by now."

Keller gestured to the book in front of her.

"You go ahead. I'm going to see if there's anything more I can find here."

McKay didn't look convinced.

"I don't think that's a good idea. We should stick together."

"Rodney, I'm as shook up as you about them, but they're not going to _kill_ us. They're trying to form an alliance, remember?"

McKay rolled his eyes.

"Jen, do you have any idea how many 'potential alliances' have ended in people trying to maim me? I'll give you a hint. It's in double digits."

Keller couldn't help but smile at that. He was worried for her, in his own Rodney sort of way. She thought maybe he was worried for himself too. But she was also entirely confident that no harm would come to either of them.

"I'll be fine, Rodney. You worry too much."

He blushed a little at that, as if there was some secret implication, but obliged her with a relenting nod and a sigh.

"All right, but – just – don't die while I'm gone, okay?"

Her smile lingered as she arched an eyebrow.

"You always know just what to say," she deadpanned.

McKay forced a smile to indicate that he was amused and not further embarrassed, but it was as transparent as everything else he did. And though he knew he was supposed to at least respond to her, he couldn't think of anything to say, so he finally just ducked his head and turned to leave, feeling her indulgent grin on his back as he left her to her own devices.

* * *

Sheppard ran his fingers along the treated glass of the window. The image rendered on it – in beautiful and vivid detail – looked to depict some sort of underworld, with bodies being pulled down into a river by ghoulish-looking men. He thought it was interesting that water was their avatar for evil, not fire. Water – that thing human life needed to sustain its existence. What did that say about them?

Brother Giroux's quiet approach prompted him to turn away from the rendering.

"Hey," the soldier offered awkwardly. "I was just… admiring the art."

Giroux looked past him at the window, his eyes flicking over it as if for the first time, though he'd memorized every inch long, long ago.

"It is a marvel which defies apt description," the clergyman said wistfully. "It is a constant reminder of the cost of frayed faith, and how it is incumbent upon the elders to properly nurture the seeds of belief."

Sheppard glanced back at it a moment, then shrugged.

"I just thought it looked cool."

Giroux regarded him strangely, nodding as if he understood the colloquialism, even though it was clear that he didn't. An uncomfortable silence seized some span of seconds that seemed to stretch on forever before the Brother finally gestured toward the near corridor with an extended arm.

"Your friends are in the library, if you'd care to see them before you all retire."

Sheppard nodded his assent, and followed after the man as he led way.

* * *

He was surprised to find Keller all alone inside the vast book repository. Giroux didn't come in with him, asserting his need for slumber, and Sheppard was grateful that he'd be able to talk with the doctor away from prying ears.

She glanced up from the book she was studying when she saw him approaching.

"Hey," she said, leaning back in her chair. "How are the negotiations coming?"

Sheppard smirked noncommittally, leaning against one of the table's edges.

"I may have been overoptimistic when I told Carter I could handle this one."

"Not so good, huh?"

He shook his head.

"They don't have any use for the ZPM, but they seem to think that once they give it to us, _we_ won't have any use for _them_ anymore."

"What about their native plants? The barba roots?"

"They're a little more receptive on that," he assured her, "but they still want a substantial promise of technology and training, and the more I talk to these people, the more I'm not sure that's a good idea."

The doctor nodded pensively, leaning forward in her chair again and reaching for the book she'd just been studying, flipping back through the pages in search of something.

"You're not the only one," she said, pausing a moment when – with embarrassment – she realized for the first time that McKay hadn't arrived with him. "Where's Rodney?"

Sheppard shrugged.

"I thought he was with _you_. But I just figured he'd wandered off when he wasn't here."

Keller furrowed her brow in concern.

"No, he left here to look for you."

The soldier, no longer so cavalier, reached up immediately to press the transmitter on his radio.

"McKay, this is Sheppard. Come in."

He waited a few moments for the scientist to respond, but when his query was met with nothing but silence, he looked down at Keller uneasily – and she at him with growing distress – and he pressed the transmitter again.

"McKay, this is Sheppard. Do you copy?"

Still nothing. Silence was so much like poison to the ears, and this one potent in its native moment. Looking back at Keller, his grim expression mirrored on her own face, he forcefully exhaled and jerked his head toward the door.

"Come on. Let's go," he sighed. "I promised Teyla I wouldn't lose him this time."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Salutations. Many thanks to those who were kind enough to leave a review of the opening chapter. As always, I am very appreciative of feedback, so if you're following the story, do me a favor and leave me some criticism, praise, or questions in the form of a review. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy this installment.

* * *

It wasn't the first time he'd lost track of Rodney. God willing, it wouldn't be the last.

This felt different, though. There was something more dangerous about this place and these people than the Wraith or their hives. Maybe it was because they drew their words from a lexicon only half-familiar to him. Or maybe it was just the disturbed gleam that he'd seen in the scientist's eyes. He just didn't know.

They hurried through the halls, searching for someone – anyone – who'd give them news of their missing friend. But the corridors were empty and quiet, the doors all shut and locked, and the only things they saw were false apparitions formed by crooked shadows, which though disproved as plain seemed still to possess the grim specter of death.

He tried intermittently to contact McKay, but received nothing in reply, not even static.

Their fear was peaking when they turned 'round a corner and came face to face with Giroux, who recoiled in alarm.

"Colonel!" he started. "Why do you forsake sleep to roam these halls?"

Sheppard was in no mood to be diplomatic.

"Where's Dr. McKay?" he demanded.

"Pardon?"

"Dr. McKay. Where is he?"

Giroux frowned cryptically, and his denial was too long in coming.

"I've no knowledge of your friend's location. Why haven't _you_ any?"

"Because he's not answering his radio," Keller interjected, her voice calmer than Sheppard's, though it was with great difficulty. "And he's not in the habit of ignoring us if he can answer."

The clergyman smiled placatingly.

"Perhaps he's simply laid down to rest. As we requested of all of you at this late hour."

Sheppard swallowed a sharp rejoinder as if it were bile, taking clear note of the unhelpful man's accusatory tone. It wouldn't do to lose his temper, though. He let out a calm breath.

"You're not listening to us. He's not in his room and he's not asleep. He's missing. And I'd suggest you help us look for him, before we start to get the impression you have something to hide. Where is Sister Cauldry?"

Giroux's innocent eyes turned callous, the man's every crevice seeming to deepen as he looked upon the soldier.

"Sister Cauldry has left on a mission. And you should take great care in your charges and inferences, Colonel. Our partnership is still a fluid thing. We might take offense."

The words, callow and threatening, made concrete the Lanteans' suspicions. To Sheppard's surprise, it was Keller who responded, bluntly and with venom.

"We don't really care about offending you, if you haven't noticed. Now, you can help us or not, but you'll be a lot happier with what happens afterward if you do."

Sheppard fought back a satisfied smile. She sounded so much like McKay when she said that, that he might have laughed another time. As it was now, though, he did his best to back her up, looking on Giroux with resolve.

The portly man glanced between them, the gears turning behind his eyes.

Finally, he relented, turning back toward where he'd come from, the Lanteans trailing after him.

* * *

It became clear after a time that Giroux was leading them in circles. Every cleric they spoke to was unhelpful and vague, and they comported themselves so querulently that Keller was certain they were seeking to distract her and Sheppard.

McKay's brazen judgments about their faith at dinner came blowing across her mind like dry air with an eye for fire, and her heart was engorged with blood when in her brain was formed a terrifying supposition: they believed the scientist a heretic. And if they believed him a heretic, then…

"Stop!"

Sheppard halted beside her, turning inquisitively.

"His blood," she said with terror.

"His blood? What are you talking about?"

"Autotransfusions!" she exclaimed, turning her eyes accusingly on Giroux, who stared back coldly. "You're going to 'bless' his blood. You're already doing it. You're leading us on a snipe hunt while your crazy preachers are tearing him apart!"

Sheppard stared stunned at Keller for a moment, before his eyes looked with threatening intensity at the cleric.

"Wait a minute, you drain their_ blood_?!" Before the man could be allowed a reply, Sheppard grabbed him by the shoulders, and in an abrupt burst of rage, he pushed him back until he slammed into the far wall. The soldier held his forearm against the man's chest, his face mere inches from the startled Giroux, as he spat, "You better tell me what the hell is going on right this second, or so help me God, I will – "

"We've not done anything with him!" Giroux's quivering voice shouted helplessly. "I don't know where he is! I've endured your baseless accusations and helped you search for him. What more do you ask of me? What more?!"

Keller stepped up behind Sheppard, trying not to betray how startled she was by the violent turn of events, glancing over her friend's shoulder at the prone priest.

"Where do you do your blood-blessings?" she asked calmly, her eyes like ice.

"Our practices are not the business of our guests."

Sheppard raised his forearm several inches, so that it was closer to the man's throat. Giroux took in a sharp breath, then coughed.

"Answer the question," the Colonel growled.

When Giroux didn't comply, Sheppard lifted the forearm higher, firmly pressing it against his windpipe. Again the preacher gasped and coughed, and this time finally relented.

"All right!" he wheezed. "Release me. Release me, and I shall lead you there."

Sheppard pulled his arm away and took a step back, watching carefully as Giroux grabbed at his throat and took a few greedy breaths that appeared to be inspired half by genuine discomfort and half by theatrics. Even now, the man practiced deception.

"Show us," Sheppard demanded.

* * *

The sleep you sleep when you're knocked unconscious is emptier and more like death than that which is slept by the willing sleeper, who though sharing with all a resolve to wake, needn't suffer the confusion of the one whose sleep is slept against his will.

Dreams aren't real in either case, and neither sleeper knows it when the things are actually dreamt, but the one who chose to dream has a sense it will be all right, and the one who didn't doesn't even know if he's alive, or if he does, what the difference is between what's dreamt and what's not.

Both usually wake, and some of both never do.

McKay _did_.

* * *

It was strange to see Giroux moving so quickly after watching his deliberate, painfully slow gait at length in their earlier meetings. But he seemed suitably spooked by Sheppard's threats, and men made haste when spooked.

At the end of the corridor, in front of large wooden double doors whose large knobs were sculpted to resemble angelic women, Giroux came to a stop, awkwardly lifting his eyes to meet Sheppard's.

"It is here," the priest said, "but I implore you not to venture within, and can but swear once more on the Father that your friend does not dwell there."

Sheppard stepped closer to him, the darkest kind of impatience flashing in his eyes.

"Open the door."

"It will be done, but know that if it is, any chance for our people to reach an agreement shall pass into ruin."

Keller stiffened at the declaration. If there were no alliance, then they'd not receive any of the planet's roots, roots which carried within them the hope that disease might one day end. Regardless of these people's deplorable practices and regardless of what they may have done with Rodney, was it not worth the fraying of her moral compass so that those roots might one day save the lives of many?

Whether it was or it wasn't, though, she knew it didn't matter. They were going to find McKay, and that's all there was to it.

"Open the door," she said. "Just _open_ the door."

Giroux looked between her and Sheppard with unhidden contempt, but after a moment, he reached within the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small key, which he slid inside the lock and turned.

As soon as he withdrew it, Sheppard impatiently pushed past him and gripped one of the knobs with both hands, leaning back and pulling open one of the heavy doors as speedily as he was able.

Once there was space to enter, Keller slid past him and rushed inside, Sheppard on her heels.

On the far side of the room, which was sparsely adorned and hard and cold and suited to what went on there, three cloaked figures stood over an unconscious man who was strapped down to a table, and beside the table was a machine hooked up to tubes attached to the man's body, tubes through which his blood was hastily flowing.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the presiding priest shouted. "Who dares to disturb the Blessing?!"

Before Giroux could explain the matter and assert his innocence, Sheppard charged across the room, shoving one of the priests out of the way so he could look down upon the victim of the Blessing.

His heart seized up when he saw the man's slack features, which didn't resemble in the slightest those of the Lantean scientist.

"Oh shit."

* * *

The sinewy captor looked down on him with a kind of demonic glee, his scarred face and derisive eyes hinting at a long, disturbing narrative that he intended to weave McKay into. He brushed back some dirty hair from his eyes.

"You're finally awake," he said, his voice straddling the thin line between playful and sinister. "I was beginning to think my fun was already over."

McKay looked up at him from the ground, wincing when a drop of blood from the cut on his forehead dripped down into his eye. He tried not to look frightened, but he assumed the effort failed.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

The captor shook his head with mock sheepishness.

"Oh, of course. How rude of me. How rude indeed."

He smiled eerily, using the butt of his knife to scratch an itch above his brow.

"I'm not anything anyone knows, really, so I suppose you could call me the Nothing Man. It has a sort of gravitas to it, don't you think, Doc-tooor?"

The way he drew out the last syllable made McKay's skin crawl.

"What do you _want_?" the genius repeated with irritation.

"It's rather simple, and in its own way enlightened." He paused, taking an indulgent breath, his eyes turning glassy for a moment before he glanced back down at his captive. "You see, I'm the law of nature correcting itself. I'm the negative charge where there's none."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Doc-tooor, you're not paying attention. I'm telling you all you need to know, if you'd listen. I want…" He nodded, though at what McKay didn't know. "I want everything that others don't. For everything that someone wants, I want the opposite. And, you know, you'd be surprised just how much wanting people do."

McKay fought a wave of dizziness, closing his eyes as a terrified shudder ran through him.

"I'm not worth anything. No one's going to give you any money. I'm nobody."

"A ransom? You think I'm doing this for money? I'm insulted."

"Then what _do_ you want me for?" McKay snapped. "I'm, I'm, I'm not going to let you use me for anything. I'll never help you, whatever it is you want."

"Oh, so brave you are," the Nothing Man mocked. "But I'm afraid participation in my game isn't voluntary, Doc-tooor. See, you and I are gonna set the world on fire."

McKay shook his head, nearly vomiting.

"You're crazy."

"Weeell…" The captor shrugged. "You've got me there."

Then he let loose a loud, demented cackle that could by sheer will have haunted the dreams of any who heard it.

McKay thought he might cry. He really might.


End file.
